Arf a mo, arf a mo,

Arf a mo, onward,

All in the alleys of stalls

Strode the Committee.

Forward, the Light Brigade!

Charge for what's right, he said:

Into the alleys of greens

Strode the Committee.

Forward, the Light Brigade!

There were a few who payed,

Some who payed double,

Bumble had blundered;

Now what is their reply,

We'll know the reason why,

No use to jib and shy,

Into the alleys of sweets,

Strode the Committee.

Cockles to right of them,

Mussels to left of them,

Chaos in front of them.

Rattled and Rumbled.

Scowled at by Bumbledom,

Wishing them all to — — Well!

Much more than we can tell.

Reckoning and measuring,

Strode the Committee.

Out flashed their pencils bare,

Jotting down facts so rare,

Tearing up Bumble's lair,

For anomalies outrageous,

While all Swansea wondered.

Judging the right and wrong,

Sparing not weak or strong,

Bumble defeated.

Reeled from the charges made,

Stammered and stumbled,

Then they strode back,

The Market Committee.

Rabbits to right of them,

Pork to the left of them,

Laver behind them,

Lucky Committee.

Why should their glory fade?

Working for Swansea's trade!

Whilst the town wondered.

Just toils and charges payed!

Strengthen the Light Brigade,

The Market Committee.

H.P.T.